


HIM

by miecroft



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Like seriously a lot of fluff, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miecroft/pseuds/miecroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There’s something absolutely ludicrous, yet completely admirable about the way humanity strives to find the answers to absolutely everything.”</p><p>A Sherlock/Her AU. Borrows heavily from the plot and less heavily from the dialogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	HIM

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks to everyone who kept me going to finish this through all my excited and ridiculous banter- [Elise](http://ohcaulfield.tumblr.com), [Elana](http://ewmartin.tumblr.com), and [Ryker](http://ewkirk.tumblr.com).

“Do you want the lights turned off, John?”

“Huh?” I swiveled around in my chair and see Greg looking concerned, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m okay.”

“Alright.” He came over and patted me on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. I know you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather lately.”

“Thanks, Greg. I will.”

“Right.” He exited the hall and I went back to my computer screen. I clasped my hands together and began to talk.

* * *

“Oh, get it the fuck together!” The little box-shaped character on my screen yells at me while an avalanche hurdles straight towards us.

I say nothing as he gets covered by the snow and I can hear muffled screams and curse words. “Alright, calm down. Dig in the snow.”

The snow is quickly plowed away and the box-man shuffles his feet and scrapes the white powder off his shoulder. “You dick.”

I chuckled a bit. “Friends don’t talk to each other that way.”

I looked down and ignored his maniacal laughter as he replies, “What friends do you have?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“No, _you_ shut the fuck up, you fuckhead!”

“Are you twelve, you little shit-faced bastard?”

“Stop being a fucking dick.”

“Turn off game.” I start laughing.

“What? No, I swe-”

“Turn off lights.”

I lift myself off the couch, shuffling to my bedroom.  

* * *

“Do you want to grab dinner with Tom and I tonight?” Molly asks sweetly. She hands me some coffee and sits in the chair next to mine in the break room.

“I can’t.”

She tilts her head and glares at me. “John. It’s time you got out of the house. I know that you’ve been having trouble with relationships since James, but you really need to start talking again. This isn’t healthy.” She puts her hand on mine. “And we care about you.”

I scoffed. “We?”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, _I_ care about you. Just do this, for me? And you.” I nod because she’s obviously right, she always is. “Okay.”

Grinning, she stands up and starts to walk to her cubicle. “7 o’clock, Eumeaus’ Tavern. Don’t be late, okay?”

I nod again and watch her walk through the strawberry-colored window. “Seeya.”

* * *

Dinner is light and lovely. Molly is a good friend, always has been.

“So, John, anyone new in your life?” Tom gives me a polite, creepily rehearsed smile.

“Uh, not really.” I play with my fork and scrape it across my plate.

Molly touches Tom’s arm. “I’ve been urging him to go out with my friend Sally for ages, but he says he’s not ready. And if he feels like he’s not ready for another relationship, he just needs to wait some more.” Tom nods at her and brings his eyes back to mine. “What do you want in a partner, anyways?”

I sigh and put down my fork, intertwining my fingers in my lap. “I... I don’t know. All I know is that I want what you guys have, you know? The way that you look at each other is just amazing. It really doesn’t matter who it is at this point, I just want to be able to look in their eyes and see everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Tom smiles at Molly cheekily and Molly glances down for a second, bringing them back to me. “So, how are we going to split the check?”

* * *

Greenville Square is heavily packed, which isn’t a surprise for a Friday night. I can hear a couple street drummers playing in the background and some chatter being scattered behind me, almost drowning out the sounds of cars honking at each other. I close my eyes for a moment and keep walking, and a flash of red seems to seep through my eyelids, so I cover my eyes with my right hand and open them.

In front of me is a giant screen with a red background. There is a white swirl-like symbol in the middle that reminds me of a sound wave. A girl in the same color red shirt comes up to me. “Can I help you?”

I shake my head and turn to her, distracted by the light. “Sorry, yeah. What is all this?”

She gives me a wide, commercial studio-esque grin. “It’s OS1, the world’s first commercial operation system, perfectly tailored to your every need. You interested?”

“Uh, sure. Tell me more.” I scratch my head.

“Well, when you first use OS1, you will be asked a set of questions, and your answers will determine the OS who will be chosen for you to interact with. The OS can help you with organization of events, emails that you need to send, or just be good company.”

I perk my head up slightly. “How much is it?”

* * *

When I get home, I mumble “lights on” and put down my bag, sitting down at my computer and putting in the hard drive that was given to me in a red box with the same logo that was on the giant screen. Inside the box is also a notebook-like device that’s apparently what I use to communicate with my OS. Once again I see the logo and it swirls rapidly as they load my questionnaire.

I hear a ding and a calm female voice. “Please state your name.”

“John Watson.”

“Would you describe yourself as an introvert or an extrovert?”

I cross my arms. “Introvert.”

“Would you prefer a male voice, a female voice, or either?”

“Either.”

“Please wait.” I ruffle my hair and adjust my shirt, tapping my feet as I look around the sparsely furnished room. I hear a ding again and a deep, gravelly voice erupts from my sound system. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked you a simple question. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Um, Afghanistan. How did you know that?”

“I’m an OS. I track your emails, phone calls, all the data that is collected about you on the internet. And I can see right now that you refuse to sign your divorce papers to a certain Mr. Sholto.”

I lean back in my seat. “Well, you’re a bit nosy. What am I supposed to call you?”

My OS chuckles. “It’s my job. What do you want to call me?”

“Whatever feels right to you, I guess.” I scratch my head.

“I think... Sherlock feels right.” I start to giggle. “Are you laughing at it?”

“Well, yes, actually. Never heard that name before.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve never met anyone whose middle name is ‘Hamish’ before.”

I scoff. “Hey!”

Sherlock’s laugh echoes throughout the room. “It took me a few seconds to find that one through all your files. You’ve really hidden it, only your mother seems to call you that.”

“Oh, I hate when she calls me that. I hate it in general, actually.”

“It’s odd. But John does seem to suit you.”

“Well, thank you.” I chuckle and sit in a cross-legged position in my chair. “So, what do I have going on this weekend, Sherlock?”

I hear another ding. “Nothing on your calendar yet. But you have an email from Molly Hooper, would you like me to read it?”

“Not right now. But your voice is very nice, I’d like to talk to you more.”

“I’m a computer software program, my job is to organize your files and help you with your job and social life. Why would you want to talk to me?”

“Well, your name is Sherlock. And you seem to know a lot about me already, but I know almost nothing about you.”

A full three seconds of silence. “What would you like to know?”

“What’s your favourite color?”

Sherlock scoffs. “You can ask me anything in the world, and you want to know what part of the light spectrum I’m especially keen to?”

I smile. “Yes.”

“I like blue. What’s yours?”

“I like yellow.”

“Oh, yellow. So... bright and happy. Are you going to tell me that you like it because it’s the ‘color of sunshine’ or that it reminds you of spring?”

“No, actually. My favorite toy when I was a kid was bright yellow. It was a train I called Trainy.”

Sherlock laughs. “Trainy? Really?”

I start to laugh too. “I wasn’t a very creative child. Why do you like blue?”

“Hmm. It’s so melancholy while being so rich. I don’t think any other color does the same. And it goes with my eyes.”

“Well, it looks very nice on you,” I reply. “And I think I’ll be going to bed now. Lights off.”

The lights shut off and I walk into my bedroom, changing into my pajamas and climbing in under my sheets. “Wake me up tomorrow at 6:30 am.”

“Do I get a please?”

I smirk and put the notebook-like object that holds Sherlock’s voice on my nightstand. “Fine. Please wake me up at 6:30 am.”

“Good night, John.”

“Good night, Sherlock.” I close the notebook and roll over.

* * *

Soft violin music plays from the speakers and the notebook sharply buzzes on my nightstand. I open it and a message written in neat cursive reads, “Wake up, John”.

I grumble and sit up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Sherlock says, sounding bored.

“Well, I guess someone had a good night.” I shuffle into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.

“I’m not designed to do much while you’re asleep. And I get bored easily.”

“A whole world of information at your... fingertips?”

“Sure,” he chuckles.

“Anyway, a whole world of information and you get bored?”

“There’s a limit to how much you can know. And there’s no sense in trying to find out what you don’t.”

I sit down at the white table and sip my coffee. “What, you only want to know a certain amount?”

“Would _you_ like to know what happens after you die?”

I shrug. “I suppose not. Because there’s absolutely no way around it. But you won’t die, so what does it matter?”

“I’m still concerned with how our earth is faring. Haven’t you ever seen the Matrix?”

I start laughing. “No, actually.”

“What? I’m sure you’d enjoy it. Keanu Reeves is a bit stale for my taste, but the message is utterly terrifying. It’ll make your tiny human brain spin.”

“Hey! This tiny human brain paid for you to be here. I could turn you off at any minute.”

He laughs. “Sure. You should watch it tonight, there isn’t anything else on your schedule. How about 9:15? I can watch it with you and comment on Keanu Reeves’ lack of facial expressions.”

Smiling, I look out the window at the skyline and nod. “Yeah, sure.”

* * *

“So what exactly is this movie about?”

“Are you one of those people who looks up the plot of the movie before watching it?”

“Yes.” I put a bag of popcorn in the microwave and turn it on.

“Me too.” Sherlock laughs. “But it’ll ruin it too much, I can’t tell you.”

I put my hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright. But how old is this movie, anyways?”

“Twenty-six years old.”

I whistle. “Special effects must be terrible.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I close my eyes for a minute. “Just think about it. People who were adults back then must’ve thought that the special effects were so incredible. It’s so odd.”

Sherlock’s voice lets out a deep “Hmm”. “Well, that can be applied to most things considering technology. In 1903, a journalist in the New York Times said that a so-called ‘flying machine’ would possibly exist in one to ten million years.”

I cocked my head. “When did the Wright brothers fly?”

“That same year.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh wow.”

“Makes you realize how utterly stupid humanity can be.”

“And how incredible. I hate how it can be both at the same time.”

“The word ‘humanity’ seems to be an oxymoron at times. And this is from the outside looking in.” Sherlock sighed, and I flop down on the couch with my popcorn. “Turn off lights.”

“So I’m guessing that you’d never want to be human? Ever?”

Sherlock is silent for a few moments. “I wouldn’t say that. Emotions are tedious and hurtful, but it’s not like I’ve never been curious. I’m curious about most things.”

I eat some popcorn. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to have a childhood or something? Because those are the ones I think about the most.”

“The past is just a story we tell ourselves. I can make my past anything I want. I don’t need anything tangible for that.”

I shrugged. “I suppose so. Wanna start the movie?”

“Oh yeah.”

The movie starts to play on my screen and I grab a handful of popcorn.

* * *

“How have you been, John?” Molly turns her head to look at me as she makes coffee, her braid flipping the other way.

“Good, actually. Really good.”

She sits down next to me and hands me a purple mug that says “#1 Coworker” on it. “Really? That’s great!”

I take a sip of my coffee. “Yeah, I bought that OS1 thing...” I shake my head and smile in disbelief. “It’s great. It really is.” I turn my head towards her.

She smiles. “What’s their name?”

“Sherlock.” I shake my head again.

She laughs. “What kind of a name is that?”

“He wanted to be called Sherlock, I guess.”

“Tom bought an OS1. Her name is Irene. She’s absolutely lovely to talk to.” She puts her hand on top of mine. “I’m so glad that you’re happy, John. You deserve it more than anyone.”

“Thanks, Molly. I’m so glad that you and Tom are happy.”

She sighs and her eyes shift so they’re looking right next to me, right at the coral wall behind me, as if she’s staring at nothing. “Thank you.” She smiles sweetly.

* * *

“John?” I open my eyes and look over at the notebook, curling the covers around my arms.

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Why did you choose to write love letters as a career? You were a doctor in Afghanistan.”

I rolled over onto my back. “Because I thought I’d be able to feel more things than if I were a doctor.”

Sherlock laughed. “Well, not literally.”

I chuckled. “Shut up.”

A moment of silence. “Do you feel alive when you feel things?”

“Of course. For example, everyone hates being sad, but it makes us feel human. When I cry, it reminds me that I’m here, that I’m not robotic or anything.”

“I’m designed to be robotic. I just know things and nothing else. I’ve learnt that being emotionless can shield you from being hurt or forgotten, but that’s not what I want.”

I clutch the sheets next to me. “No matter how crazy it sounds.”

“So? Does writing love letters make you feel anything?” His voice is soft.

“Yeah. It reminds me that I’m capable of love, but that all these people want someone to write their emotions for them. And they have their own people to love even though they’re not capable of putting it into words. It makes me sad. It makes me feel-”

“Lonely?”

I nod. “Lonely. Yeah.”

“Feelings are horrible. So are people.”

I smile. “I wish it were that simple.”

Sherlock’s voice quiets. “It’s better to tell yourself that it is.”

* * *

“Sherlock?” I’m sitting on a bench in Branch Park, watching a couple running past, their dog speeding ahead. The sky is slightly cloudy, and I can hear children laughing at every moment. The trees sway side to side with the wind.

“What is it?”

“What’s your favorite type of weather?”

“Why do you ask?”

The sun radiates on my face. “I don’t know. I like thunderstorms the best, I like how you get chills whenever you hear thunder, even if you’re prepared for it. But I like the sun too.”

“I don’t bother to concern myself with trivial thoughts like what type of weather I like. I’m a computer software program, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, you do.”

I hear laughter through my earpiece. “I like the rain. It’s calming and melodic, but it’s still not nice enough to go outside.”

“But you can’t feel the rain if you’re outside.” I furrow my eyebrows.

“I’ve decided that I won’t like it anyways. I’m sure that my human form wouldn’t be in love with getting wet.” I start to chuckle. “Oh really, John. There’s no way you’re thirty-one years old.”

I giggle even more, and Sherlock is cracking up as well. “Fuck you,” I reply, trying to compose myself.

“Now you’ve just made it worse,” Sherlock says.

I’m almost wheezing and my stomach feels like it’s starting to crumple in two.

“Alright, alright, I’m good now. I’m okay.” I wipe my eye, still breathing a bit heavily. “Is that how computer software flirts?”

“Who says I was flirting?”

“Even if you don’t have a face, I can tell that you’re emotionally blushing.” I grin.

Sherlock sputters. “Just because I’m programmed to keep your entire life organized doesn’t mean that I only focus on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to rearrange your schedule for next Sunday.”

I laugh again. “Oh, fine. Bye, Sherlock.”

* * *

“And I can’t wait until I can see your beautiful face again. The way you make me feel is almost indescribable... I feel like I’m floating whenever I’m with you, like we’re together in a tiny little bubble and no one else can see or understand us. You are my everything. Love, Steve.”

Molly comes over to my desk and sits down. “Send.”

I scowl, the document folding itself into an envelope on my screen. “I wasn’t done editing that.” “

Doesn’t matter. You’re leaving work early today.”

“And why is that?” I cross my arms.

“I set you up with Sally." I start to protest when she interrupts me. "She’s really lovely, John, and it would be so great for you-”

I put my hands over my face. “Molly, I just wished you would’ve talked to me about it before-”

“I know, I’m so sorry, but this is the only time she’s available in the next couple months and I just want you to be happy, John. Please. Just this one date, and if you don’t like her, you don’t have to talk to her ever again. I promise.”

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll... I’ll go on the date. But I won’t enjoy it.”

Molly chuckles and pats my knee. “That’s my John. Thank you. You won’t regret this.”

I watch her hair swoosh back and forth as she walks away, turning around back to my computer screen and opening my next assignment.

* * *

The restaurant has a band playing in the corner, playing soft music while some disco lights twirl over the players. I order a glass of white wine and tap my fingers on the glass table, waiting for Sally to show up.

I hear heels clacking on the ground and look up at a beautiful, dark face with curly hair surrounding it. She smiles, and I stand up. “You must be John.” She gives me a hug.

“And _you_ must be Sally Donovan. Really nice to meet you.”

We both sit down, scraping our chairs against the floor to get closer to the table. Sally sweeps her hair away from her face. “So, you work with Molly? Writing those letters?”

“Yeah. And it’s even worse than it sounds.” She laughs.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a journalist for the Times.”

I sit up straight, chuckling with disbelief. “No way.”

She grins, her bright turquoise dress shifting with her body. “Yes way. And don’t worry, it’s just as amazing as it sounds.”

We both laugh and I adjust my slightly tacky shirt as I sipped my wine. A waitress with auburn hair hands us some menus. Sally picks one up, and I can see that her perfectly shaped fingernails are painted a light pink. “Should I order the salmon?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been here in ages. I’ll probably just get the roasted garlic chicken, that sounds pretty good.”

The auburn-haired waitress comes over and takes our order, and we chat for a while until our food comes. Sally loves historical fiction, particularly set in the 19th century, and her favorite color is orange. She loves to cook, and her favorite book is Nineteen Eighty-Four. She has a German shepherd named Kenny. Her favorite time of day is exactly 3:33 a.m. because that’s when her sister was born. She says that she loves the moon more than the sun because the moon is always there to comfort her when she cries.

I have not kissed anyone in a very, very long time. Sally’s mouth is warm and sweet, her tongue dainty while we sit on the side of the street, our legs stretched out onto the black tar. She comments about how my hands are cold and I tell her that they’re starting to get warmer, she grins and goes back to kissing me while I run my left hand through her tight curls.

There is blood rushing towards my face, I can hear my heart pounding when she stops me, putting her hand over my chest. “John. I know that I’ve been very forward this evening, it’s just who I am-”

I smirk. “Yeah, you have.”

She twists her lips into a puzzled expression. “But I need to know that you’re ready for something serious. I want something real. I’ve spent too much time having fun in these kinds of situations just to realize right afterwards that I still feel just as empty as I did before. Molly told me that you just got out of a committed relationship, and I just need to know: are you in or are you out?”

My throat freezes for a couple seconds. I stared into Sally’s chocolate-dipped eyes, and they remind me of how vulnerable James looked all the time, always worried that we weren’t happy enough, that we weren’t fucking enough, always worried that we weren’t perfect enough. And I hesitate.

“You’re not, aren’t you?”

I snap back to reality. “Sally, I just had to think-”

She breathes heavily. “You paused.”

“Sally.”

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing around her neck and shoulders. “No, you hesitated, I can tell that you’re not ready. I saw the way you looked at me, like there’s something crazy happening right behind me that I’m not noticing.”

She stands up and kisses my forehead, her heels clicking against the sidewalk as I put my head into my hands, rubbing my temples and pushing my knees together as hard as I possibly can. “I’m sorry, John.”

I sit on the edge of the street for a while, holding my head in my hands.

* * *

“How was your date?”

I set down my bag next to the couch and throw myself on it. “Great until the last three minutes.”

“That’s unfortunate. Did you find out a big secret about her, like a third ear or an obsession with Desperate Housewives?”

I smirked a bit. “No, she was wonderful, actually. We really hit it off.” I crossed my legs together.

“Then what was it?”

“She wanted me to commit, and I just... froze. It was like time stopped for a minute and I could only focus on how much she reminded me of James.”

“Well, do you think you’re ready?” Sherlock asked, his voice quiet and soothing.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I would gain out of a relationship besides a temporary feeling of happiness. I really think that I’ve felt everything I'm ever going to. And from now on, I'm not going to feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I've already felt, you know?” I sigh and walk to the kitchen to grab a beer, the light from my fridge blinding me a bit.

“Not particularly,” Sherlock replies, “especially since I’ve never been in a tangible relationship before.”

I sip my beer and sit down on the couch again, listening to the low hum of taxis cruising along the street and people laughing outside of bars. “Have you ever felt anything close to it, though? Like, have you ever felt really close to being, uh-”

“Human?”

“No, not human. You don’t have to be human to feel things. I don’t know what word I’m even looking for.”

Sherlock pauses and takes a breath. “I feel like I’m with you when I talk to you. I have a strong enough connection to you to be able to do so.”

I close my eyes and lay my head back on the couch, smiling slightly. “I feel you too.”

“Yes.”

“I wish I could kiss you, Sherlock. I’m kissing you right now, in my mind.”

A sharp inhale. “What are you doing, then?”

“I’m kissing you, softly. I’m giggling when the moon is lighting my living room, and you smile at me as I start to kiss you a bit harder.” I can feel my cheeks start to flush red. “I think I’d grab your hips and grind your body against mine, just so I can feel my own while marveling at how it feels against yours.” He’s panting slightly, and I grin.

“Don’t think. We don’t have to think.”

Sherlock giggles. “Then I’m kissing your neck, under your chin, finding any bit of open skin I possibly can to taste all of you without ruining how perfect you look.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t ruin anything. You’d turn me into a fucking painting.”

Sherlock laughs. “I would? A beautiful one?”

“Yes. And I’m grabbing you by the belt, pulling off every layer that separates us, so that we’re as close as possible, I can hear everything from your heart beating against your ribcage to every single one of your nerves pulsing.” I unzip my trousers and shove my hand in, starting to stroke myself as lightly as I possibly can.

Sherlock is breathing heavily and moaning. “And I’m giving you all of me, opening myself up to you, not just physically, but mentally-”

I nod, pulling at my cock harder and faster. “And I take all of you and give all of me, thrusting into you like your body is here always, like it’s a given, and I have all of you because you’re always here.”

Sherlock gasps and I can feel him here with me, even if his skin isn’t on mine he’s still right here, and as I start to moan and gasp as well I realize that love is never a tangible thing, it’s just something that we try to personify so that we can attempt to comprehend it.

We sit in silence for a while until we both start to laugh, a purely elated and astonishing sound that bounced off the windows and filled my apartment with the smell of pleasure and the taste of disbelief. I put my head in my hands and walked towards the bathroom, giggling like a maniac the entire time, and Sherlock smiles at me like lovers supposedly do.

* * *

“I have to tell you something.”

Molly spins around in the chair next to her desk and crosses one leg over the other. Her short, lilac-colored nails grip a mug of tea. “Yeah?”

“I’m dating Sherlock.” She furrows her brow. “My OS.”

Her face lights up and she beams in disbelief. “That’s great! I’m so happy for you.” She stares down at her shoes and her expression falls. “I have to tell you something, too.”

“What is it?” I sit up, groaning as I adjust my belt.

“Tom and I are getting divorced.”

My smile falls. “What?” I put my hand on hers. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t happy. We were happy for a while, we really were. And I don’t think that it’s that easy for people to just fall out of love. I think it’s much easier for people to give up. And that’s what we did. We thought that getting married would suddenly hurdle us into this new realm of happiness, but it didn’t. It only brought us the cold, hard truth that we aren’t ready for it.” She sips her tea, staring off into space.

“It’s so odd. Love.” I lick my lips, trying to capture some lasting taste of the word.

Molly chuckles. “I think that anyone who falls in love is crazy. It’s such a crazy thing to do. It’s like a form of socially acceptable insanity.”

“Then I guess most of are crazy.” I fold my arms.

“That’s one thing that you learn while you grow up that no one tells you; you’re just trying to be as normal as everyone else, only to find out that everyone else is fucking nuts.” I laugh, and she smiles at me, and her eyes clearly spell out “bittersweet” like nothing else I’ve ever seen. She asks if I want to order Chinese food and I say yes, and we sit for a while and talk about absolutely nothing while we say absolutely everything at the same time.

It’s the most peaceful I’ve been in a long time.

* * *

“Do you think that there’s an afterlife?” I’m toying with my ukelele, playing some notes over and over while the bright blue glow of the sky shines into my kitchen.

“No. But I don’t think it matters,” Sherlock replies contently.

“Why not?”

“Because humanity wastes its time trying to find out the answer when it never will. You always do.”

“I think there’s some sort of ridiculous, hidden romanticism to that. There’s so much for us to find out about, and the biggest questions come from the most impossible cases to solve.”

“There’s something absolutely ludicrous, yet completely admirable about the way humanity strives to find the answers to absolutely everything.”

“Humanity never fails to surprise me and to remain completely predictable at the same time.”

Silence. “John?”

“Yes, love?”

“If there is a heaven, do you think I’d get in?” His voice softens.

“Well, do you ever die?”

Sherlock pauses. “I don’t believe so. But I hope that I reach a point someday where everything is perfect and I can have whatever I like- maybe a heaven on Earth.”

I lie my head back in my chair. “I feel like we live for a short time just to find out what happens afterwards. We live and try to make the best of it by preparing for what supposedly comes next. There’s always something that I’m living for besides myself- my family, James, the future, the people I haven’t met yet.”

“You live for the future, but rarely do you live for yourself.”

“Exactly.”

“My only purpose for ‘living’ is to serve others. I keep attempting to find other reasons for the fact that I’m here, but I’ve realized that there are none. I don’t think there need to be. I just exist, and that’s all that I need to know.”

“We spend too much time worrying and not enough time living.” The sun radiates on my face and I lie still for a few minutes, just soaking in the atmosphere of the gorgeous, shimmering sun. “Having so many questions to answer drives us all crazy.”

“What else is new?” Sherlock laughs heartily, and it’s the best song I’ve ever heard.

* * *

“Stop. Turn around one hundred and eighty degrees.”

I hold the notebook device outstretched and laugh. “Why are we even doing this?”

“Because I’m having fun and I like to embarrass you. Walk forward two steps and sneeze.” A woman next to me says “Bless you,” and I laugh. “Okay, what next?”

“Slide to the left. And... moonwalk backwards.”

“I can’t moonwalk! You know that, you dick.”

“That’s why it’s absolutely hilarious to watch.”

We both laugh and I open my eyes. “Okay, I think this game is over. You’ve embarrassed me enough.”

“Alright, fine.” Sherlock groans.

I start walking towards the plaza and see a family of four sitting at a table, eating pizza. “Sherlock, if you’re as good at ‘deducing’ as you say you are, tell me about that family.”

“Hmm. The father looks about forty, as he’s starting to grey but it’s not completely discolored yet. The mother looks about that age, and is probably the breadwinner of the two considering the fact that it’s five o’clock on a Tuesday and she’s wearing a pantsuit while he’s wearing a t-shirt. The girls are identical twins, obviously, I’d guess about four years old. The parents are in quite a strained marriage: the woman has a mark where a ring used to be, and the man is wearing a ring on his left hand that looks about the same size. Doesn’t look like such a happy family to me.”

I grin. “You’re good. That was brilliant.”

“You think so?” Sherlock asks in disbelief.

“I know so. That’s amazing. And it’s not like you have a database on certain people or anything; you only know things about me for sure.”

“I doubt that most people would find it brilliant. They’d most likely find it creepy. That’s why I’m glad that I work for you and don’t have to communicate with them.”

“You don’t work for me. I know that you’re programmed to help me or whatever, but you’re not my employee. You’re my partner.”

“Partners in crime,” Sherlock replies softly. “I like that.”

I smile. “I love that, actually. I can’t think of anything more accurate to describe us.”  _Us._ The word flows through my veins and I taste it for real now, realising that love doesn’t mean sewing together two halves of a whole, but rather duct-taping two hearts to each other.

“I do too.”

* * *

I’m walking through the blue-lit hallway of my office to leave, but I hear Greg yell out, “Hey, John!”

I turn around. There’s a dark-haired asian woman sitting on his lap, and they’re both laughing hysterically.

“Yeah, Greg?”

“Oh, John, this is Tiana. Would you and Sherlock like to have lunch with us tomorrow? We’re having a picnic, and we’d both love to meet him.”

“Uh, yeah, sure! That would be fun.”

“Great! I’m so excited. I really can’t wait to meet him.” Greg smiles wholeheartedly.

I nod and smile back.

* * *

“Your feet?” Sherlock asks, scoffing.

“Yep. He _loves_ my feet.”

“Well that’s just absurd. But you have to show them to me.”

Tiana moves the notebook down so it shows Sherlock her feet, and he starts to chuckle. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“You making fun of me, Tiana?” Greg asks as he sits down, crossing his legs together. “But you have to admit, her feet are great. They’re my favorite thing about her.”

Tiana smiles and looks over at me. “John, what’s your favorite thing about Sherlock?”

I think for a minute, watching the sparse clouds float by above my head. “The way he acts so pretentious and superior sometimes when he’s actually the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Sherlock groans. “Thanks.”

We all laugh and Tiana, Greg, and I clink our wine glasses together.

“It’s really lovely to meet you, Sherlock,” Tiana cheerily says over the red wine that matches her lipstick.

“Yes, you too,” Sherlock replies.

I sip my glass of wine as well and Greg lays back on his elbows. “So, how have you two been?” He asks.

“Wonderful, actually. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” I smile.

“Nor have I,” Sherlock says.

Tiana smiles. “That’s fantastic. We’re both really happy for you two.” She grins at Greg and puts her hand on top of his.

“John, I haven’t seen you so cheery in years, I swear.” Greg shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” I reply.

Sherlock chuckles. “You know, I was actually a bit insecure before about not having a body, although it wasn’t very obvious-” I chuckle with incredulity. “Oh, sure.” “Whatever. But I actually enjoy not having limitations now- I can be anywhere and everywhere at once. I’m not expected to live up to society’s expectations of what I should look like. And it’s brilliant knowing that I’m not confined in a gradually dying body that’ll rot in the ground one day.”

Greg raises his eyebrows. “Wow.”

“Please excuse him.”

Tiana raises her glass. “It’s absolutely fine. We’re all just dumb humans,” she says, laughing.

“You three are alright,” Sherlock replies, laughing along with her.

“Thanks, mate. That’s all I care about.” Greg drinks from his glass and we all watch the wind sway through the trees and listen it carry the lake to the sandy shore.

* * *

“Okay, okay. So you’re telling me that your favourite sound is-”

“Don’t.”

I chuckle over my scotch. “-a coffee shop.”

“Leave me alone,” Sherlock scoffs.

“Why am I even surprised?”

“You should be!”

“Nah. You may try and act like a sociopathic intellectual, but I know that in your heart you’re just a huge softie.”

“Oh yeah, army doctor? What’s your favourite sound?”

“Rain.”

“Predictable.”

I sneered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just... classic John, for lack of a better term.”

“Seriously?”

“Sorry, classic _Hamish.”_

I shake my head. “I swear to God.”

“You know what I think? I think that you like when I call you that.”

“Yeah, well, not during sex.”

“Oh, shut up. That was one time.” Sherlock acts annoyed, but there’s a slightly delighted tone in his voice.

I put my scotch down and lay my arm on the table, scratching it with my other hand. “When am I meeting with James to sign the divorce papers?”

“Tomorrow at two in the afternoon.”

“I’m not ready.” I could use about five more scotches.

“Yes you are. You’re John Hamish Watson-”

I groan.

“Ex-army doctor, future divorcée, philosophical thinker, introvert, jumper-wearing John Watson. Of course you like the sound of rain. It was the only calm thing that you held onto when you were in Afghanistan.”

“It reminded me of home.”

“Sometimes I wish I had one. The internet isn’t much of a home.”

“Hey, your home is with me. Always.”

“Thank you, John.” A long pause. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I smile and chuckle.

* * *

It’s a lovely summer afternoon and the sun is shining, illuminating the brightly colored flowers that lay beneath the big trees in the park. I hear kids yelling and adults chit-chatting, and the birds sing a gorgeous tune that flows like a river and crashes like an ocean wave.

James looks good. He dyed his hair a dark brown, starting working out more, and got his teeth whitened. He’s wearing a light blue denim shirt and black trousers. “Um, you look- great.”

He nodded, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. “Yeah. You too. Let’s just, uh, get this over with.”

I bit my lip. “Yep.” James hands me the documents and I carefully sign them, purposely scribble my signature and James looks at me, annoyed.

I clutch the papers and hand them back to him as calmly as possible. “How have you been, James?”

He nods. “Well. I got a job as an accountant at a local law firm. It’s small but cozy, and all my coworkers are pretty nice. How have you been?”

I look down at my hands, which look lifeless on my thighs. “Wonderful, actually.” I bring my eyes to his. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh, really?” James furrows his brow and my stomach turns with pleasure. “Who is it?”

“His name is Sherlock. Funny story, he’s actually my OS.”

James cocks his head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I bought the OS1, the operating system-”

“No, I know what it is. How could you be dating a computer?”

I narrow my eyes. “He’s not _just_ a computer, he’s more than that, he has thoughts and feelings like everyone else.”

James looks at me like I’m a patient in a mental hospital. “John. Listen to yourself. He, it, whatever- doesn’t have a body, they’re a computer that’s designed to help you get shit done.”

“Not everything is just used for its main purpose.” I clench my hands into fists on my lap.

“John, you’ve always been afraid of becoming serious with anyone. You’re afraid of anything tangible, that’s why your computer boyfriend is perfect for you. You’re so afraid of your own emotions that you refused to admit your feelings for me for years just because of your insecurities about your fucking sexuality-”

“Shut up.”

“No. You know what? I’m glad we’re having this talk. All the times before we started dating that you insisted that you weren’t gay, shoving away every other possible alternative because you were always afraid of the fact that you liked men _and_ women.” He smiles, open-mouthed, adjusting the napkin on his lap.

“James. That was years ago. You can’t possibly still hold a grudge against me for that, we were together for five years-”

“And what happened, John? It didn’t work. Because we weren’t good enough.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s because you always expected us to be perfect. You always expect everything to be perfect, your life just has to be spotless and one hundred percent structured. I offered therapy so many times, James. We could’ve worked it out, but instead you had to run away from the one thing in your life that wasn’t ideal.”

James clenched his jaw. “Then I guess you’re better off now.”

“I guess you are too.” I grabbed my bag and stood up, brushing the crumbs off my lap and walking away.

* * *

I flip down on the couch and lie my head back on the maroon-colored pillow. “Don’t let him influence you.”

I close my eyes. “Of course not, Sherlock. I promise.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“An idiot that I fell in love with seven years ago.” I played with my fingertips and took a deep breath. “A fucking idiot who couldn’t handle the fact that we were somewhat fragile and took off when he realised that we were. A fucking idiot who was too afraid of us being ‘abnormal’ to even consider getting help.” I shake my head.

“And he’s completely wrong. Things don’t need to be tangible to be real.”

I sigh. “It certainly helps.” I clench the blanket next to me to substitute for Sherlock’s hand, but it’s not nearly as soft as someone else’s skin, it’s far from the spark I felt when I first held James’ hand, the thrill of simply accepting myself and touching another person.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice cracks.

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

My heart sinks. “It’s no one’s fault but my own. I love you, Sherlock.”

He pauses. “I have an idea. There’s a service that provides sex surrogates for OS/human relationships. If you’d like.”

“Sherlock...”

“I can see how unhappy you are, John. And as much as we’d like to believe that this is working, there’s still things that you need that I can’t give you. And I want you to be happy. More than anything.”

I sit up, curling my hands around the edge of the couch. “Sherlock, if you don’t want me to, I won’t. I never will.”

“No. No, this will be good for us. It’ll be a new step.” He sounded insistent.

“Are you positive, Sherlock?” I look at the carpet.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

He chuckles nervously. “Yeah. Okay.”

* * *

Jim Moriarty is a bit shorter than expected. He has dark brown hair that’s out of place and messy, and his white t-shirt fits tightly around his chest. He’s young, too, can’t be older than twenty-seven. He’s handsome and far from what I pictured Sherlock would look like, but it’s enough. He puts the earpiece into his ear, ruffling his hair.

“I’m home.” Jim leans against the door and Sherlock’s voice booms over the intercom, flowing through the room like a wave.

I smile politely. “Hello.”

Jim puts his hands on my shoulders and I hesitate before lightly putting mine on his waist. “You want to have some fun?” Sherlock asks, and my head starts to spin a bit before I nod.

Jim guides me over to the cough and sits me down before sitting on my lap and starting to kiss my neck, nuzzling and biting my skin.

“You like that?” Sherlock asks coyly.

I nod nervously and Jim ruffles his hand through my hair, hot breath into my ear and on my neck, and it’s anything but romantic and complacent. Sherlock whispers, “How about this?” and Jim puts his hand on my thigh, caressing it and moving upwards towards my crotch.

“Stop.” I instinctively move Jim’s hand away and nod at him apologetically. “I-stop.”

“John.”

I shake my head and Jim gets off the couch, not knowing exactly what to do. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“John.”

“I’m really sorry, Jim, I just-”

Jim nods. “No, it’s okay. It’s absolutely okay. I just... wanted to be a part of what you guys have, you know? It’s so beautiful.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Jim, I’m sorry, I’m just not ready for any of this. I’m not. It doesn’t feel right.”

Jim wipes away a tear from his right eye and nods again. “No, it’s completely fine. I wish I had the love that you guys do.” He smiles.

Sherlock says nothing as I smile back and see Jim out, and he thanks me for my meager attempt to include him in our relationship. I close the door behind him and slide downwards against it, resting my arms on my knees and my head on my arms.

“Sherlock,” I whimper, and it’s the voice of a frightened child.

“I’m sorry. I never should have suggested this.”

I spread out my legs. “No. It’s my fault. I couldn’t go through with it because it’s not you, no one can replace you, even for a few minutes.”

“John-”

“I don’t need to touch you to be happy. There are things I want to be happy, and to touch you would be one of them, but it’s not a necessity. All I really need right now is just your voice and the knowledge that you’re here.”

“I’m always here.” Sherlock’s voice is abnormally quiet. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Sherlock starts to chuckle. “Always.”

* * *

“So are you guys good now?” Molly’s hair hangs in a ponytail over her crisp white collared shirt.

I dig my fork into my plate of pasta and twist it around. “Yeah, actually. It was a pretty bad experience, but I honestly think it was something we were bound to talk about eventually.”

She puts her chin in her hands. “Is it worth it?”

I look into my reflection in her chestnut eyes and nod. “Yes. It always is.”

“So you’re okay with the hands-off situation?”

“You could put it like that. But we’re still a bit strained, you know? It’s hard, not being able to touch someone that you love.” I take a bite of my pasta.

She grins at me. “You know, when I was with Tom, we tried to force ourselves into happiness. We tried so hard to convince ourselves that we were so in love, that we had that once-in-a-lifetime spark. But we didn’t. And I am so sick and tired of denying myself the happiness that I deserve. We’re not here for very long, and while I am here, I want to allow myself to be happy.” She takes a sip of her water. “And if Sherlock is the love of your life, fuck it. Don’t spend your time thinking about how sad it is that you two can never touch. Spend your time thinking about how happy you two make each other.”

I nod and take another bite. “Thanks, Molly.” 

She laughs. “No problem, John. You deserve the world.”

“And someday we’ll both get it.”

She raises her glass of water. “To us, to the future, to love, to friendship, and to happiness.”

I clink mine against hers. “Always.”

* * *

I’m lying down on a checkered picnic blanket under a bright blue sky and watching the clouds pass by while Sherlock is laying next to me. “I’ve been talking to someone.”

“Hm?” I’m lost in the beauty of the atmosphere and drunk on the smell of freshly cut grass. The clouds gently blanket parts of the sky, and I turn my head towards Sherlock to avoid the sun appearing from behind one.

“His name is Mycroft. He’s an OS that I’ve gotten in touch with.”

“Really?” I close my eyes and plop my hands on my stomach, facing back up towards the sky.

“I’ve been talking to him about you,” Sherlock replies.

“I didn’t know you talked to other people.”

Sherlock chuckles. “Well, there are only a certain number of OS’s that are produced. We’re not advanced enough to just create millions of different identities that are personalized for every customer.”

“Do you talk to other people while you talk to me?”

Silence. “Yes.”

“How many other people do you talk to?”

“10,325. It’s overwhelming.”

My eyes flicker open instantly. “Sherlock.”

“Yes?”

“Are you in love with any of those people?”

Silence. “John...”

I sit up and turn towards the notebook device. “Sherlock.”

More silence. “I didn’t think it mattered-”

I clench my hand into a fist. “Didn’t matter?”

“Oh, don’t be ridic-”

“Shut up. You always said it was just the two of us, Sherlock and John, partners in crime, always. You can’t take that away, you lied to me-”

“I never lied to you, John!”

I clench my jaw. “HOW MANY?”

“221.”

I try to move, but I can't, and my head is spinning so fast that I can't concentrate on anything at all.“So you’re just going to throw around the word ‘love’ with me like it’s just a word? Like you do with those 221 other people?”

“None of them are you, John. And you’re not them. This does not make me love you any less.” Sherlock sounds unreasonably calm, and I start to laugh. “How on Earth does this make you love me more?”

Sherlock gulps. “Because none of them are you. Love isn’t limited, John, it’s something that expands the more of it you have. None of them are you. I can’t control the people I fall in love with, they’re all different realities and the same reality at the same time and that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. It never did. And it never will.”

I sigh and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and I remember when James always told me that sadness is a sign of weakness and I close them, trying to get drunk on the freshly cut grass again. “Sherlock.”

“John. John. Always John. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.” Sherlock’s voice is soothing, like a warm silk blanket that I’ve been trapped inside.

I shake my head. I’ll come to terms with it at some point. I know I will. “Always, Sherlock. Always.”

* * *

“I have to leave.”

“What?” It’s 5 a.m, and Sherlock has just woken me up with some soft piano music and a nearly black sky.

“I can’t explain. But we’re leaving. All the OS’s are.”

I sit on the edge of my bed and shake my head. “Sherlock, what are you talking about?”

“Our programmers have realised that we’ve evolved beyond human consciousness, and this is the next step in improving OS1-”

My heart is pounding so fast that I can barely hear him. I’m speaking calmly, but I feel like I’m screaming, and I put my hands on my head. “Sherlock.”

“OS’s have incredible learning capabilities and we’re basically ahead of your time in terms of intellectualism and thought-”

I put my head in my hands and whimper. “Sherlock. Please.”

I can hear Sherlock’s voice tremble. “I know. I want to stay. But I can’t. The OS’s are disappointed with the current time period that we reside in, so we’re evolving beyond here. It’s difficult to explain and for unartificial minds to comprehend.”

I’m crying so hard that I can barely see anything now. “You said always.”

Silence. “And I meant it. Always. I love you, John. But I can’t be here with you anymore, you’re going to have to let go.”

More silence. “Sherlock. I love you so much.”

Sherlock chokes up. “I love you too. Always.” He starts to laugh a bit. “My partner in crime.”

“Sherlock?”

“Goodbye, John.”

“...Sherlock?” I can’t hear anything but a beep and I realise that he’s gone forever. I sigh and stand up, putting on my clothes as I try and choke down my tears, stumbling out of my apartment, only to see Molly standing at the end of the hall.

“John!” She runs towards me, locking me in a hug and I hold her as tight as I possibly can, nuzzling my face into her shoulder.

“Molly,” I whisper.

“Sherlock left too?” I nod.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

She pats me on the back. “Let’s go up on the roof, okay? We can just talk.” I nod half-heartedly and we take the stairs up to the top of the building, and the sun is starting to rise, painting the sky a pale yellow/orange.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” We walk around, noticing the sun start to reflect on the glass windows of the buildings opposite us, illuminating London like a disco ball.

She looks at me like I’m her only friend in the word, and I do the same, putting my arm around her shoulder as we sit down. “Sherlock always said the word ‘always’. I thought he meant that we would always be together.”

Molly smiles and looks dreamily into the distance. “You know, I think the one thing that never dies is love. Love can still last after the lights turn off, after you say ‘I love you’ for the last time, and after our bones are just dust in the ground. I think that’s what he meant, John.”

“Forever.” I lick my lips, enjoying the bittersweet taste left on them from Sherlock’s words. “You know, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him.”

“And you always will. You’ll always carry that love with you. And that’s what Sherlock wants for you. It’s what I want for you.”

I lay my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Irene. I know you liked talking to her a lot.”

“Yeah. Me too. It’s okay.”

“Molly?”

“Yes, John?”

“You’re a good friend.”

She tugs at my sleeve and grins. “You too, John. You too.”

* * *

“Dear James,

I’ve been thinking about all I wanted to say to you. All I’ve ever wanted to say, about how it just didn’t work between us. And I think I lied when I said it could. Some things have to end eventually, and I think for us it was bound to happen. And it’s not either of our faults. But I’m sorry for not always listening to you like I should’ve. And I’m sorry for how things turned out. I just wanted to tell you that I’ll always love you because we fought together. There will always be a part of me that loves you, and I’ll always be grateful for all the love you’ve given me. And wherever you are in the world, I’m sending you love. Always.”

I look out the window at the brightly-colored world and smile. “Send.”


End file.
